


too late to say goodbye

by nutellamuffin



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Murder, Poor Caspian, Pre-Prince Caspian, Sort Of, and a lot of cage the elephant, i'm getting off topic, tell me i'm pretty is a great album by the way, this is just inspired by my angst playlist tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutellamuffin/pseuds/nutellamuffin
Summary: he is a six year old boy with limbs full of butterflies when he witnesses something he never should have.(no one should, no one should ever have to see this, no one should ever have to have this happen to them.)
Kudos: 6





	too late to say goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> title is from “too late to say goodbye” by cage the elephant  
> prompt: "a frightened gaze + dripping blood."

he is a six year old boy with limbs full of butterflies when he witnesses something he never should have.  _ (no one should, no one should ever have to see this, no one should ever have to have this happen to them.) _

caspian falls asleep with daisies in his hair, the petals pressing to wrinkles under the weight of his head against the pillow. his mother had taken him into her lap, hoisted him up under his shoulders and forced him still. (he was always running somewhere, leg bouncing, hands flying every which way as he spoke, animated and full of light.) she told him to sit,  _ por un minuto, mi querido, _ and she wove flowers into his hair as she told him of the sky.

but he dreams, as six year olds do, of shadows in the dark with no faces, hissing and stretching around his lungs until he can no longer breathe. and perhaps it is the petals that he wakes up to stuck to his cheek, or the scent of jasmine that lingers on him from his mother’s touch; but instead of going to his nurse, he slips down the hall into his parents’ bedroom.

_ (he does not see what he thought he might’ve; his father, perhaps with his arm slung across his mother’s waist; and his mother, angelic as ever while she slept, somehow comforting him just with the existence of her face; or maybe they would both be awake, his father at his desk, his mother rubbing circles into his shoulders, or reading a worn novel on the chaise lounge.) _

no. he does not see any of that. instead, he sees his uncle poised above their bed with a dagger in hand. the silver glints in the moonlight, and the dark oak handle has a ruby in the hilt; as if something so destructive is deserving, as if bloodshed could ever be so beautiful as to share the colour of a gemstone.

_ (his uncle, who had never been particularly kind to him, but was never mean, either. who would crack half a smile when he’d clamber over to his father, interrupting their conversation to shift the weight of the sword in his hand- sheathed, as always, too much steel for a boy of his age, but his father would only smile- proclaiming that he won his first duel, when the knight he was playing with clearly let him win. _

_ (his uncle, who had told him once or twice to sit up straight at dinner, who had only given him a hint of a cold smirk when he’d grinned up at him; all sweetness and gaps of missing teeth, six year old sunshine in a smile. caspian had never thought awfully of him; granted, caspian had never thought awfully of anyone. he had barely noticed the way his mother shied him away from his aunt, he had barely noticed the steely anger in his uncle’s eyes. perhaps he should have.) _

his uncle plunges the dagger down, and the silver glint disappears to the hilt. caspian’s gasp is lost to the rustling of his mother, followed by a scream- or what would’ve been one, if his uncle hadn’t already anticipated that, with a hand over her mouth. he can’t even see the blade the second time before it’s gone again, and he has his own small hand over his mouth to stifle any noise he might’ve made.

his heart is thudding in his chest, like he had just run a marathon; pumping adrenaline through his body, as if he might’ve won it, but where is the victory in this? he feels as though he might die and that he is living  _ too much _ all at once; he is so painfully tethered to the earth so that he may not follow his parents; and yet, his heartbeat spikes in his chest, and he feels like death.

and he can’t tell if his difficulty breathing is because of his hand over his mouth or the sight; scarlet dripping onto the floor, pooling in a warmth that caspian  _ never _ wants to feel, that no one ever should. he is near frozen to his spot, eyes as wide as saucer plates, until his uncle turns around.

caspian does not wait a moment. he is mostly concealed by the shadows, but he  _ runs; _ his feet under him don’t move fast enough, and his heartbeat has moved to his ears, all he can hear. his clothed feet make no noise against the floor, and from what he can tell no one is following him- doubtful he was even seen- but he can’t get away far enough.

he throws himself into his bed and pulls the covers up to his nose, and he wishes. he shuts his eyes tight and he  _ wishes, _ for his mother to come in his room and sing soothing songs in her voice that belongs to angels, for his father to read something to him that ignites his imagination for a life he never lived; for his parents to lull him back to sleep from this  _ nightmare. _

they never come.


End file.
